


Saturday

by morning_coffee



Category: Burnt (2015)
Genre: Fix-It, Jealousy, Life Lessons, M/M, Time Loop, Trick or Treat: Chocolate Box, Trick or Treat: Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-20 23:05:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12443820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morning_coffee/pseuds/morning_coffee
Summary: He's not sure if he should take life advice from rom-coms, but then again, he's getting desperate enough to try anything. He just wants to wake up on a Sunday.





	Saturday

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chantefable](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chantefable/gifts).



**Day 1**

The day's a mess from the minute Adam wakes up, the shrill sound of the alarm clock cutting through the early morning darkness of his hotel room. Out in the corridors, housekeeping is already busy, the buzz of the vacuum cleaner grating on Adam's nerves like an irritating fly he can't slap away. He feels vaguely like he used to after a night of booze and partying and drugs, half worn out from the hangover, half restless and itchy.

When he steps under the shower and tilts his head up, it rains down on him cold and too harsh, temperature and pressure settings off, making Adam jump in surprise and slip, barely catching himself against the slick tiles before he falls.

. . .

Helene rushes into the kitchen at 5:38, tucking errant strands of her hair behind her ears as she fixes the ties of the apron behind her back. She offers him a harassed smile. "Sorry, massive accident on Finchley Road. Traffic was crazy."

Adam glares at her from where he's bent over the new menu. 

"Maybe take an earlier bus in the future." 

Perhaps his tone is harsher than he intends, because Helene's smile hardens into a thin line. She looks like she's about to snap back, and Adam can swear he feels David and the others grow tense behind him, can almost hear them thinking _Here we go again_ , preparing for the explosion.

It's Tony who saves them – saves Adam, more likely, because when all's said and done he'd be the one on the receiving end of glares and uncomfortable silences that last for days until he apologizes. But Tony barges in, swinging open the doors with too much enthusiasm for this time of day, his entrance cutting through the tension.

"Good morning, everyone!" His cheerfulness should be grating on Adam's nerves, but somehow, it achieves the opposite, dispelling some of the dark clouds hanging over him, and he can't help answering Tony's smile with one of his own. "Are we done with the menu?" 

"Sure, we've switched out the halibut for monkfish, and we're keeping the chili chocolate mousse from this week that all the hip food bloggers went wild over." Adam hands over a sauce-stained sheet of paper with the menu, scribbled in his barely legible scrawl that everyone but Tony struggles to decipher. But his gaze flies over the words as if they were printed in neat block lettering. 

He hums appreciatively and puts the list down with an approving nod. "Looks good. We need to talk about the dinner for the French delegation next month."

"Tonight after we close?"

Tony looks away and runs a hand through his hair. All at once, he seems awkward. "I'm off early tonight," he says, still not looking at Adam.

It's weird. Not just Tony's sudden nervousness, but the fact itself – he's usually the last one to finish up and the first to start in the morning. Adam remembers how Reece used to tease Tony about being married to the job, how the reason he never had serious relationships was because his work was too much of a competition for any guy. 

Adam snorts. "What, you got a hot date?"

As if on cue, all the noises in the kitchen die down: the clattering pans, the quiet conversation, the shuffling of footsteps, as if everyone was frozen in motion at exactly the same time.

Tony clears his throat. "As a matter of fact, yes, I do." He finally turns back towards Adam, meeting his stare head-on, almost like a challenge. 

Adam doesn't understand why it feels like the rug has been pulled out from underneath him, why his smile freezes on his face until it's strained and painful, why his fist clenches around the list with the menu until it's crumpled.

"Oh. Okay. That's— Great. It's great. I hope you have a good time," he hears himself saying, without being aware of opening his mouth. "We'll talk about the French dinner tomorrow."

He puts the creased paper on the counter and wipes his hands on his jacket, nodding at Tony as he pushes past him and walks out of the doors. 

The silence behind him is deafening.

. . .

Adam's mood turns from bad to worse as the day progresses.

David ruins an entire batch of soufflé, and Adam yells at him until David rips off his apron, bundles it up and throws it down before storming off. None of the others say a word, even though Adam can feel their eyes on him, quietly judging him.

They continue to bite their tongues, though, even when Adam seasons the sauce for the chicken and reaches for the cinnamon instead of the turmeric, failing to realize his mistake until he tastes it and can't spit it out fast enough, coughing and trying to chase the taste from his mouth by taking a large gulp of red wine straight from the bottle.

Later that night, when he mindlessly grabs a hot tray and burns his fingers, yelling in pain as the tray clatters to the floor, Helene is at his side in an instant. She wraps his hands in a wet towel before pulling him towards the office and getting the first-aid kit.

He leans back in his seat and closes his eyes, letting Helene's callused, sure fingers silently work their magic on his blistering hand and doing his best to ignore the way he can feel her looking at him, half-pitying, half-reproachful.

"Thanks," he offers quietly when she's done. It's not like he doesn't know that he's been a dick – more of a dick than usually – all day.

"Look, it's none of my business," Helene begins, but when he opens his eyes and fixes her with a glare, she doesn't finish the thought. She shakes her head and sighs. "Never mind."

Adam doesn't see Tony before he leaves for his date.

He takes a bottle of vodka from the bar to his room with him and watches shitty porn on pay-per-view until he passes out on the floor with his back perched up against the foot of the bed.

 

**Day 2**

Morning hits him like a freight train. 

He groans and sits up. He must have made it to bed at some time during the night, but there's a crick in his neck and a dull headache pounding behind his eyes. He curses at the cold spray of the shower, annoyed that they didn't fix it yet, resolving to give Tony an earful about the state of his hotel later.

Helene is late again, with the same stupid excuse as the day before. 

"What are you talking about?" she asks when Adam snaps at her, more confused than angry. "I wasn't even in yesterday. I had the day off."

"Right." He lets sarcasm drip from the word like sticky-sweet caramel. "Then it must have been your twin coming in complaining about being stuck on the bus because of some stupid traffic jam."

Helene holds up her hands in the universal gesture of surrender and backs away. "I'm not arguing with you when you're like that. I'll be in the office going over the orders. Let me know when you're sober enough to remember what day it is."

She almost bumps into Tony on her way out. The smile on his face is replaced by a small frown at the way Helene rolls her eyes at him and motions towards Adam, and he fixes Adam with narrowed eyes.

"What did you do now?" Exasperation swings in his tone. At least he's not as annoyingly cheerful as he was the other morning.

Adam latches onto it like chocolate glacé clinging to orange peel. "You seem to be in a mood today. I take it your date didn't go well?"

Tony's frown deepens. "How do you know about that?" He sounds suspicious, like Adam's been _stalking_ him, as if Tony himself hadn't been all too keen on sharing that detail with Adam and everyone in the kitchen yesterday. "It's tonight, anyway."

"You told me yourself, remember? And I'm pretty sure you said it was yesterday."

"No, I assure you that I did not," Tony says, full of conviction and judgement, and Adam feels annoyance prickling like tiny needles under his skin.

"Jesus, what is it today with people conveniently forgetting things and then insisting that I'm the one who remembers it wrong? Is this some elaborate joke? First Helene claims she wasn't late yesterday, now you."

"Yesterday was Helene's day off."

Adam throws up his hands. "Right. You know what? Forget it." Clearly, they've all teamed up to have him on.

It's only later, when he finds himself reaching for the cinnamon _again_ , that he notices that his hand isn't bandaged. The burn from yesterday has healed completely, as if it was never there to begin with.

He stares at his hand, flexing the fingers.

Weird.

 

**Day 3**

"Sorry," Helen begins, and Adam cuts her off before she can finish her apology.

"I know, big accident, bad traffic, you were stuck on the bus. Same as yesterday and the day before, I assume?"

She blinks at him. "Yesterday was Friday. I had the day off for Lily's play. You were the one who said it would be okay if I didn't come in, remember?"

Adam remembers, except that was three days ago. It's Monday today. He looks at the half-finished menu on the counter, stained orange from the pumpkin sauce they retired on Sunday. Adam remembers finishing that menu the day before yesterday, remembers handing it off to Tony before Tony dropped the news about his date. He stares at the paper, absent-mindedly completing the list from memory.

"I— What day is it today?"

Helen's expression turns judgmental. "It's Saturday. For fuck's sake, Adam, how much did you have to drink last night?"

When he shakes his head, it's less an answer to her question than resounding denial of her claim that today's Saturday. It can't be Saturday, because Saturday was two days ago. When Helene was late the first time and he burnt his hand and Tony's announcement settled in his stomach heavily like too much bad risotto. 

"I gotta go."

He's out of the door and halfway down the corridor when Tony rounds the corner. "Where are you off to? What about next week's menu?"

"It's on the counter. You'll like it." He liked it two days ago, so Adam feels secure in the assumption that Tony will still like it today.

Tony rolls his eyes at him. "Your ego is truly baffling. We still need to discuss—"

"The dinner for the French embassy delegation. I know. We'll do it tomorrow. You can tell me all about your date, too."

He disappears into the elevator before Tony can ask him how he knows.

. . .

"I know this sounds crazy, but I keep going through the same day."

Dr. Rosshilde takes a sip of her tea and leans back in her chair. "Well, if the monotony of your schedule is weighing on you, I'd suggest you mix it up. Maybe take a few days off. You've been working non-stop since you returned from your self-imposed exile."

It almost makes Adam laugh, except there's nothing funny about the whole situation. Not when he's the one living it. 

"No, I mean— I'm reliving the exact same day. Like, I wake up and it's Saturday. And then I wake up the next morning and it's Saturday again."

Silence descends over the room, and Dr. Rosshilde's eyes on him are piercing and uncomfortable.

"Adam, you — Are you using again?"

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. "Oh, for fuck's sake, I'm not high. Or drunk, or having a psychotic break, or whatever. I'm stuck in a fucking time loop!" His voice sounds hysterical, which he knows is not going to help give his claim of being of sound mind much credibility. He runs his hands over his face and tries to keep them from shaking. "I know exactly how crazy it sounds, okay? But I'm not making this up."

She takes his blood and makes him pee in a cup anyway.

 

**Day 4**

"What, like Bill Murray?" Reece asks.

"Who?"

Reece gestures with his egg whisk. "You know. _Groundhog Day_. The movie?"

Adam shrugs. He vaguely remembers the title, though he's not entirely sure what rodents have to do with his current predicament. "Never seen it."

"Jesus, for an American your pop culture knowledge is appalling. It's a classic. Arrogant jerk keeps reliving the same day over and over until he becomes nicer and wins the heart of the woman he loves." Reece's lip curls. "Yeah, I can see how it applies here."

"I'm not — Wait, you think this is about Helene? Because I snapped at her for being late? So... what? I apologize and tell her I love her and it all goes away?" He's not sure if he should take life advice from rom-coms, but then again, he's getting desperate enough to try anything. He just wants to wake up on a Sunday.

Reece rolls his eyes. "If you really think Helene is the solution to any of your numerous problems, I don't think I can help you. But sure, tell her you love her. When she reacts by throwing a meat cleaver at you and decapitates you, at least you can be safe in the knowledge that you'll wake up alive the next morning. Well. The same morning, technically."

There's something soothing about Reece's derision, the familiar undercurrent of mockery. 

"So you believe me?"

"I've seen you when you're out of it and talking crazy, Adam. Like that night in Paris when you locked yourself in the bathroom because you swore the fried calamari were still alive and trying to strangle you. You get that face." He motions in the general direction of Adam's head. "And you don't have that face now. So, yeah, I believe you."

He straightens and makes a shooing motion. "Now get the hell out of my kitchen and go fix your life. Whatever part of it is salvageable, anyway."

. . .

"Sorry for being an ass this morning," Adam offers earnestly.

Helene frowns. "Not that I don't appreciate the apology, but you were actually a lot more understanding than I thought you'd be."

Right. This is the day where Adam just waved off Helene's explanation about a traffic jam with a shrug and a "don't worry, not your fault". The days have started blending together, the repetition messing with Adam's memories. 

He rubs the back of his neck. "Just consider it an apology for all the other times I was an ass, then."

"Nice try, but there's no way a single 'sorry' is going to cut it."

Her smile is bright and friendly, and he feels a rush of affection. 

_I love you,_ he thinks. _Let's give this another try._ But the words refuse to leave his lips. 

There's a reason they didn't work out, him and Helene, and it had nothing to do with unfaithfulness or self-destructive behavior or harsh fights. There wasn't even a break-up; they just stopped sleeping together by quiet, mutual understanding. Helene _gets_ him, more than most other people, because they're so similar. He loves her, sure, and he's reasonably certain that it's mutual, but neither of them is _in love_ with the other.

He hums quietly under his breath. "We're good, aren't we?"

"Sure." She smiles again and squeezes his hand, and he remembers the way she wrapped it in gauze the other day. Today, four days ago. "What's gotten into you today? Is this about Tony's date?"

"What? No, of course not."

Is it?

. . .

He catches Tony on his way out, stopping the elevator with his hand between the closing doors and stepping inside.

"Adam." Tony watches him with a wary expression as the doors slide shut and the elevator starts moving downwards. "I'm in a hurry, so whatever it is, it'll have to wait until tomorrow." 

"Yeah, I heard about your date." 

Something crosses Tony's face, come and gone too quickly for Adam to identify the emotion. "Ah. The gossip mill is working smoothly as ever, it seems."

They share a wry smile, and Adam watches the light on the display panel go through the floors. 8 – 7 – 6 — 

"I just wanted to say — I hope you have a nice time. You deserve it." He turns and looks straight at Tony, hoping to convey sincerity, but the moment their eyes meet he knows that all he does is make it even more awkward.

Tony offers him a smile that looks strained. "Thank you, that's— Thank you."

They stare uncomfortably at each other, and when the elevator grinds to a halt in the lobby, Tony nods at Adam and steps outside. Adam watches him until the doors close between them, wondering why it feels like he just had open-heart surgery performed on him.

If that's what it takes to make the universe decide that he's learned his lesson, the universe can suck his fucking dick.

 

**Day 5**

The first thing he does when he wakes up in the morning is reach for his phone. 

Saturday, October 7th.

He throws it across the room, satisfied at the sound of the screen cracking when it hits the table.

If he's lucky, he'll have to buy a new one tomorrow. He has an idea what to do to make it happen.

. . .

"Don't go on that date."

Tony's smile freezes on his face. "What? How do you —"

"Look, it doesn't matter how I know. I don't want you to go."

He can feel every pair of eyes in the kitchen on them, can see from the corner of his eyes Helene holding a pan, halfway twisted towards the hob but too focused on the drama unfurling a few feet away to complete the motion.

"Why?" Tony wants to know, and Adam meets his eyes. 

He shrugs. "You know why."

Tony pulls in a sharp breath. When Adam steals a glance at him, he can see the anger twisting Tony's mouth, can see the way the fury burns in every tense line of Tony's body, and he knows this is going to get ugly. Maybe it wasn't such a great idea to have this conversation in the middle of the kitchen, surrounded by his team. 

Maybe it wasn't such a great idea to have this conversation at all.

"Because you're jealous? You don't want me, but you also don't want me to be with anyone else, is that it?" Tony's voice is bitter and harsh, and for the first time in four days, Adam wishes he could rewind the day and start over.

"Look, I just don't think that —"

Tony won't even let him finish. "No, you know what? Fuck you."

He breezes out of the door, and Adam still can't believe how horrifically wrong this went when Helene puts down the pan and glares at him. 

"What the hell were you thinking?!"

He runs a tired hand over his face. "Don't start. I know I messed up, okay?"

The only upside is that tomorrow morning, it will be as if this whole awkward, horrible thing never happened. He wonders if he should just kill himself so he can get this fucking day over with. Except with his luck, the time loop would end and he wouldn't wake up again. He doesn't want to die, he just wants today to be over. Saturday in general, but also this specific hellish version of it.

"You know what? You take over today. I'm taking the day off."

He grabs a couple of bottles and locks himself in his room. By two in the afternoon, he's too drunk to remember why he was drinking in the first place.

 

**Day 6**

Rinse, repeat.

By now, he's almost used to the cold shower, and when Helene rushes into the kitchen eight minutes late, he's already finished writing up the menu, on a whim deciding to replace the chicken with braised pheasant to avoid another turmeric/cinnamon mix-up.

"We need to talk about the dinner for the French delegation next month," Tony reminds him, and Adam shrugs.

"There's still plenty of time, don't worry about it."

Tony looks at him curiously, like he's trying to figure out what's going on in Adam's mind, what brought on this uncharacteristic nonchalance. _Sorry for being a dick yesterday,_ Adam doesn't say, because it's not like Tony remembers it. 

He still doesn't want Tony to go on his date, imagines him smiling at some smug-ass posh British guy – a lawyer, probably, or maybe a doctor – across a table stacked with subpar food, and his stomach plummets hollowly. 

"Alright," Tony says, but the speculative look on his face isn't gone. He seems to be waiting for the other shoe to drop. When Adam doesn't comply and the outburst Tony is clearly waiting for won't come, he shrugs. "I'll be off early tonight. I'll see you tomorrow then."

"Sure." Adam forces a smile, and he thinks he almost manages to make it look real. "Have fun."

. . .

It's half past eleven when Tony lets himself back into the office, startling at finding Adam sitting over a stack of papers with the guest list to the French embassy dinner.

"You're still here." 

It's not usually like Tony to state the obvious. Not unless he's upset or tired or both. Adam looks up at him, shuffling the papers aside.

He promised himself he wouldn't ask, but now that Tony's here, back too early for a successful night out, hope is drumming through his veins. "How was the date?"

"How do you — "

"Helene told me." It's not strictly speaking true, but Helene told him two Saturdays ago, so he figures it's just a small white lie.

"Oh. Right. It was... alright." 

Tony rubs his forehead. In the glare of the artificial light, his tiredness is showing, dark shadows like bruises under his eyes, his mouth a thin, unhappy line.

"That bad, huh?"

There's no humor in Tony's chuckle. "Let's just say that it is very unlikely that there will be a second date."

"I'm sorry," Adam says, the words coming automatically. He bites his lip and shakes his head, making up his mind. "No, actually, I'm not. I mean, I'm sorry you had a miserable night because you deserve to be happy, but I don't want you dating some asshole pediatrician."

Tony frowns. "Thomas is an architect."

Adam can't help but notice that Tony didn't deny the 'asshole' part. "Whatever, I don't care what he does for a living. I keep imagining you on your date together and I'm just— I'm jealous, okay?"

He hates the way the frown lines furl Tony's forehead, how all the confession does is clearly only adding to his agitation. "Can we not do this tonight, Adam? Please. It's late and tonight was... a mess, and whatever you hope to achieve with all of this, it's not helping."

"Look, you said—" He catches himself just in time and tries again. "I mean, I know you think that this is about me not wanting you, but also not wanting you to be with anyone else, but that's not it. I'm not that much of an asshole, okay?" He steps up to Tony, a little encouraged when Tony doesn't back away. He raises an eyebrow at Adam, and Adam laughs. "Okay, maybe I'm that much of an asshole, but not about this."

His eyes drop to Tony's lips, and he knows Tony notices because he can hear him sharply pulling in breath.

Adam leans forward and brushes his mouth against Tony's. It's nothing like their first kiss, that brief, elated moment of relief when Tony told him they hadn't lost their chance at his third star and Adam reacted by instinct, a quick dry press of lips against lips that left Tony flustered and Adam unsatisfied. It's slower this time, gentler, asking more than demanding, giving Tony enough time to respond – and he does, if only for a moment before he breaks away.

There's a look of betrayal on his face, and Adam knows he needs to get it right this time. "You're right about me not wanting you to be with anyone else. But you're also wrong. I do want you."

Tony's eyes search his face. He doesn't look happy. "You just admitted that you're jealous, Adam. How can I trust anything you say when it's the equivalent of a dog pissing on a tree to stake his claim?"

Adam snorts. "I'm not sure if I should be insulted that I'm the dog in your scenario or amused that you see yourself as a tree getting pissed on."

"It's not funny," Tony says.

"It is a little funny." Adam reaches out and cups Tony's face with both hands, fingertips softly moving along his neck. "I'm serious about this, though."

He leans in for another kiss, feeling Tony exhale against his lips, a small sigh of surrender that makes Adam's heart leap.

Somewhere outside, Big Ben is chiming midnight. 

It's Sunday, at last.

End.


End file.
